Sad
by Minerva Solo
Summary: Ken is having pretty much the worst day ever, give or take. And who says he has no angst? hints at RanKen, though that wasn't my first intention. And I know, Aya's pretty OOC, but it would a pretty depressing fic if he wasn't.


Sad  
  
* A/N: disclaimers, blah blah blah. come on, how many ways are there of saying these aren't my characters and I have no right to put them through the torture I do? Oh wait, that's another one.  
  
Warnings: sap, angst, possible shounen ai (depends on how you feel towards Ken/Aya. Their relationship in this rather overtook my original plan for them), probable OOC (though they're meant to be straight, so how many fics aren't OOC?), nasty 'shoe-horning' with the chronology *  
  
Ken stared at the calendar. How had the year passed so fast? It seemed like yesterday, but no, he wasn't going to think about that. It was still too close to his heart to fully contemplate any way, and, as he was working the full day, it wasn't worth getting wound up about it now.  
  
Despite his best resolutions, Ken couldn't help feeling miserable. He let himself go in the shower, and sobbed silently for a few minutes. From the minute the alarm had gone of, no, from the day last week when he'd realised how close the day was, he'd known it was going to be a bad day. Some things couldn't be helped.  
  
Well, if they couldn't be helped, they weren't worth worrying about, right? Ken forced a smile onto his face, but as he looked into the bathroom mirror his reflection seemed to be grimacing. He sighed, and got on with shaving.  
  
Ken had another go at smiling as he walked out the door. He wasn't going to burden the others with his problems, it just wouldn't be fair. They all had their bad days too, and Ken never minded listening to their woes and cheering them up, but he felt guilty at the thought of pouring out his heart to any of them. They had their own problems, they didn't need to hear his and he didn't want them to worry. They'd all had tougher lives than him, in his opinion, so it wouldn't be fair and it wouldn't be right by trying to make out his problems were worse than theirs, if only on this day.  
  
Ken opened the shop, and the wave of fangirls took his mind off everything for a while. Waving and smiling and taking money and giving change and suggesting arrangements and taking calls and doing almost everything gave him little time to think. And, with Yohji slipping out for a fag before the school's started leaving Ken stranded on his own, Ken was busy enough to feel only slightly downbeat.  
  
But it was over before it started. The schools opened, the girls ran away with waves and promises to return that afternoon and he was left alone. Yohji's cigarette break seemed to include waiting for the tobacco to grow and cutting down the trees to make the paper personally before inventing fire to light the damn thing.  
  
Ken grimaced at his own line of thoughts. It wasn't like him to be so negative, or so grumpy. Yohji was his friend. Yohji had had a tough life and the whole Asuka / Neu thing had been very hard on him. That was why he flirted with everyone he met.  
  
Ken stared around the shop. He'd dusted the shelves, swept and mopped the floor, pruned and trimmed and arranged and rearranged the flowers until his fingers bled, and now there was nothing to do. Momoe-san wasn't in, and Yohji still hadn't come back and there wasn't a customer in sight. In fact, it had started to rain, but Ken had already brought in the outside display.  
  
Ken leant on the counter and sighed. Weather to match his mood. He wanted to cry. He told himself it was ridiculous, that crying never helped, and what would he say if a customer walked in, but that didn't change how he felt. Gods, he was so miserable.  
  
Playing with the orders pad in one hand, he ripped the top sheet off. Making lists had always helped before. Laid things out in a nice order, and made it all seem so much less significant and overwhelming when it was down in ink. So much more. simple.  
  
So Ken made a list. He allowed himself to sink down, leaning his back against the counter, and started to write.  
  
Why today is a bad day: It is my birthday, and nobody knows. It is the anniversary of Kase's death by my hands. I'm working all shifts today, because I'm coaching both Saturday and Sunday Yohji's bunked off already. I'm utterly alone.  
  
I feel bad because no one knows it's my birthday and I don't like being sad on my birthday, but I'm glad they don't know because they'd all try to cheer me up and I'd feel guilty for not getting any happier.  
  
I'm sad.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
A familiar voice startled Ken out of his reverie. He jumped up from behind the counter, stuffing the slip of paper into his back pocket. Aya, who had been leaning on the counter as he looked around for some sign of life, jumped backwards as Ken shot up like a jack-in-the-box.  
  
"Sorry! Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you, Aya." Ken ran his hand through his hair and looked shamefaced.  
  
"What were you doing down there?" the redhead's infamous stone visage slipped a little and allowed his curiosity to show.  
  
"I, um, my legs were tired, and there was no one in the shop, and I figured I might sit down for just." Ken trailed off at Aya's pointed look at the chair beside him. "Oh, yeah. Didn't notice that," he muttered.  
  
"Are you okay?" Ken stared at the violet eyes. Was he okay? Well, no, not really, but Aya didn't need to know that. Aya had a lot of problems of his own, and didn't need to be burdened with Ken's.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
Aya frowned at his friend. Ken wasn't a very good liar, and his red eyes betrayed either a distinct lack of sleep, or private tears, or both. Aya had no intention of prying, but he was concerned.  
  
"Where's Yohji?"  
  
"He's supposed to be working here this morning? I hadn't realised," Ken murmured sarcastically. Aya raised his eyebrows. Ken really was feeling out of sorts. "He took a cigarette break over, well, over two hours ago now, and he hasn't come back."  
  
"Must be some cigarette," Aya commented wryly, and managed to get a grin out of Ken. A forced grin, it was true, but it was better than that look of silent suffering.  
  
"Why are you down here? You're not working until this afternoon," Ken leant his elbows on the counter.  
  
"I had a suspicion Yohji might have walked out on you despite there being a lot to do today, and I thought you might want some help." Aya looked around. "It seems I was wrong." Ken flushed.  
  
"There's still the deliveries, if you want to take them," Ken said softly. "I couldn't leave the shop."  
  
"Why don't you take them? I don't mind staying. There's few enough customers for me to frighten away." Aya's half-attempt at a joke fell flat. Perhaps Ken was sick?  
  
"I, I'd like that, if you really don't mind." Ken gave his companion a hopeful look of huge puppy dog eyes.  
  
"Go on." Aya waved him out of the door.  
  
As Ken walked across the threshold, bouquets in one hand and orders in the other, a slip of paper tumbled to the floor. Aya scooped it up, recognising it as an order slip, but as he went to call for Ken to come back, he had dropped the orders, Aya glanced at the writing. Perhaps Ken hadn't dropped the orders.  
  
Aya read it through once, and then again. He frowned at it. Then he walked over to the counter and looked for a pen. Eventually he found the one Ken had been using, on the floor where the younger man had left it. Ken had been chewing the end again.  
  
* * *  
  
Ken ducked into an alley and leant against the wall. He'd promised himself he wouldn't do this again. He'd never get the deliveries done if he had to keep stopping because he was crying to hard to see where he was going. But someone had ordered lilies, and their delicate scent kept reminding him of death.  
  
He sank down, back against the wall, not caring how dirty he got. Kase was gone. Kase would never come back. Kase, his absolute best friend in the whole world ever, had been killed by him. Kase had betrayed him. Kase had hurt him. Kase was gone and Ken was never going to see him again.  
  
The others didn't know, couldn't know, how close they'd been. Kase, who had walked up to him one day in the showers and said "you're the most beautiful person I've ever known, Ken, inside and out" and kissed him full on the lips, who had been the one person Ken could tell anything to and know that no matter how tiny the grievance Kase would drop everything to help him and he would do the same for Kase, was dead. His best friend. His boyfriend.  
  
And the worst part? The guilt. Not the guilt for killing him, Ken dealt with that as he dealt with the guilt for all the other deaths at his hand. The guilt that came part and package with the grief. The guilt for being selfish enough to want him back when Kase was probably in a better place, the guilt for all the things he should have said and done, the guilt for all the things he shouldn't have said and done. But the worst guilt was the guilt he felt was why he wanted Kase back. It was so selfish. Kase had made him feel special.  
  
Ken didn't have much self-esteem. He wasn't confidently sensuous like Yohji. He didn't have Aya's aloof exoticism and air of mystery and torment. He couldn't understand things like Omi. He felt like the stupid one, the comic relief, the cute baka who tripped over his own feet and made ignorant comments. And because one of the others knew he felt that way, none of them had ever told him he wasn't any of those things. Kase had. Kase had made him feel special and unique and needed.  
  
Ken rubbed fiercely at his treacherous eyes. Kase had died a year ago. Kase had betrayed and hurt him and tried to kill him. But somehow, it never seemed like the same person. The Kase he'd killed had been a million miles from the one who joked that Ken couldn't run down the pitch without tripping over his laces and told him, sincerely, that he loved him. That Kase had been a wonderful person, full of good intentions and ambitions and dreams. Dreams that could never be fulfilled because he, Ken, had killed him.  
  
He sighed. Crying about it really wasn't going to bring Kase back. The sincere Kase, eyes sparkling with respect and love, was just as dead as the cruel Kase, treacherous and murderous and so hurtful. And no matter how had Ken wished and hurt and cried, neither of them was going to ever be seen on this Earth again. In fact, Kase probably was as much as earth himself. Somehow, this morbid humour twisted a sad smile from Ken. He really was never going to see Kase again, and, since he wasn't dirt himself yet, he better get on with his job.  
  
Ken arrived back at the shop in time for his second shift. Aya was still sitting alone.  
  
"No customers?" Ken asked, concerned at the apparent lack of business.  
  
"Some. You dropped this," Aya handed the slip of paper back to Ken. He immediately regretted it. All colour bled from Ken's face and he struggled to reach a chair before his knees collapsed. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he stared wildly at Aya.  
  
"You, you didn't read any of it?" he begged, not even bothering to hope.  
  
Aya waved a hand at it, pulling up a chair to sit opposite Ken. Ken looked at it. His nicely ordered list seemed to have expanded somewhat, as Aya commented on each item.  
  
Why today is a bad day: It is my birthday, and nobody knows. Well, now someone does. It is the anniversary of Kase's death by my hands. Can't do much about that, I'm afraid. I'm working all shifts today, because I'm coaching both Saturday and Sunday  
  
You could have said something. Yohji's bunked off already. I'll kill him. I'm utterly alone. No, you're not.  
  
I feel bad because no one knows it's my birthday and I don't like being sad on my birthday, but I'm glad they don't know because they'd all try to cheer me up and I'd feel guilty for not getting any happier. Paradox.  
  
I'm sad. We'll see about that.  
  
Ken gave a very sad smile. Aya gazed at him  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked quietly. "Ken, we're your friends. If you wanted company, we'd have been there to comfort you, and if you wanted to be left alone we would have respected that."  
  
"Will you respect my wish you don't mention any of this to the others?"  
  
"Of course. Is there anything I can do?" Ken looked at him in silence. Aya rose, assuming his offer had been rejected, slightly hurt.  
  
Ken seemed to reach a decision, and stood up as well. Suddenly, he drew Aya into a fierce hug. "You can do this," he whispered, burying his face in Aya's chest. Slowly, awkwardly, Aya raised his arms to encircle Ken's slender form.  
  
They stood like that for several moments. Eventually, Ken drew back. His eyes were red and raw again, and Aya felt a damp patch on his shirt. Aya rested a hand on Ken's shoulder, squeezing it in a roughly companionable way. Aya wasn't a person inclined to non-violent physical contact, and, on his own, this was as much as he could manage. But Ken recognised this, and appreciated what the hand on the shoulder meant coming from Aya. But he appreciated even more the hug. He really had needed that.  
  
Ken was a tactile person. He liked to touch and hold and be held. He needed the physical reassurance. He needed the warmth and comfort another human body could provide. He needed another hug.  
  
Aya responded much less hesitantly this time. He wrapped both arms around the younger man and pulled him in closer. Ken rested his head against Aya's shoulder, suddenly tired. Aya ran a hand through Ken's hair.  
  
"It's going to be okay," Aya murmured. "Ken, you have to believe that."  
  
"I know. It will be easier tomorrow, but I have to get through today first. I'm so tried, Aya. I'm so tired of all this. The fighting, the pain, the loneliness."  
  
"Are you so lonely?" Aya rocked Ken back and forth slightly, a little hurt himself.  
  
"I miss Kase. You guys are great, but you're not Kase. You all have your own issues, we all have trouble opening up to people. You have to be open, to stop being lonely like this. You're not lonely too?" Ken raised his head to look into Aya's eyes.  
  
Aya swallowed. It was an uncomfortable truth to face. Yes, he was lonely. He was so achingly lonely sometimes he wondered if he could last another night, alone. But he couldn't let anyone into his life. He couldn't let anyone else get hurt by what had happened to him. Suddenly, he understood completely what Ken meant. He nodded, not taking his eyes from Ken's.  
  
The shop bell rang. Ken stepped back as a figure appeared through the flowers. She didn't seem to notice how close the boys were.  
  
"Call the others to the mission room. This will require all of you, I'm afraid. Sorry Ken," Birman almost managed to look sincere. Ken flinched.  
  
* * *  
  
Ken crouched in the air duct. He couldn't even remember why they were here. He'd spent most of the briefing mentally begging Birman not to even hint that it was his birthday again. She didn't.  
  
Yohji was taking the guy out. No, correction, Yohji had taken the guy out. But there were still a lot of guards. Ken was watching for them. Yes, that was his task, and he forced himself back to it. The others did the work, Ken was stuck as back up. It did nothing for his sense of worth. It was not his day. A mission, on his birthday? And here he was bored and cramped in a metal tube too small for him even to sit upright in. he hadn't seen a single guard. Not one. It didn't occur to him to wonder why.  
  
A warehouse stretched out below him. The lower floor was stacked with cardboard boxes and wooden crates, and above it was a sort of balcony, where control panels for the lights, lifts and crane equipment sat against he wall and a thin metal railing separated tiled floor from thin air. And above this was the air duct that Ken was crouched in.  
  
He could see Aya on the ground floor. Ken fought the absurd urge to call out and wave. Suddenly, he was very glad. Below him, on the first floor balcony, was Schwarz. He wondered if they knew he was there, and tried desperately not to think.  
  
They were talking in English. During his professional days, Ken had learnt a little English. They'd played in a few international tournaments. The red head was whining about Weiss beating them to the target, but very quietly.  
  
Ken swallowed. Aya was still a long way below them. He couldn't hear what was going on above him, and Ken couldn't warn him without risking detection. And the psychotic had just spotted the young man, talking to Balinese over the radio.  
  
Berserker walked to the balcony. Oracle gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ken acted without thinking, something that probably saved both his life and Aya's. Launching himself from the air duct, made a grab for a pipe to swing himself down. Panic gripped him as he missed, but his bugnuks caught over the pipe and for a brief second he was no longer heading straight down. Then the claws sliced through the flimsy plastic and he tumbled towards the balcony.  
  
Berserker jerked his head around and raise his arms to fend off Ken's bulk as he landed sprawling on top of the delicate man. They tumbled to the floor, one of Berserker's knives taking a chunk out of Ken's left arm and another stuck in his own stomach. Ken raised one hand to finish Berserker off by disembowelling him, and a gunshot rang out.  
  
Ken lowered the hand. A single bullet had passed through the claws to leave him wearing what was little more than a normal glove. He gulped. Oracle was staring at him.  
  
"Try nothing," the American sneered.  
  
Ken stood up. Berserker stayed down, transfixed by the sight of the blood he was losing. Without warning, Mastermind charged. Ken stared at the flame headed telepath, and instinct took over. He raised his right hand, now clawless, and swung.  
  
Mastermind pirouetted gracefully and slumped to the floor. Ken had managed to knock him out with a single blow. And break his jaw, by the looks of it. Ken remained still, watching the two remaining members. They listened as Aya's footsteps receded from the ground floor, Abyssinian still unaware any of them were up there.  
  
Prodigy walked slowly towards Ken. His diminutive stature almost fooled Ken into thinking this would be easier than the previous two. Prodigy stood within touching distance, then leant over and gave Ken a gentle poke in the ribs. He was startled as he felt himself beginning to flip backwards over the rail, and his hands flailed to catch hold of anything to regain his balance.  
  
Prodigy gave a yelp as one of Ken's hands made contact with his shirt, and they both went over the rail. Ken's other hand caught hold of a rather sturdier pipe than the one he'd grasped earlier and he swung beneath the balcony in a graceful arc. His left arm sent a shriek of pain racing through him and he let go off what he was holding. Prodigy found himself flying across the room into a heap of cardboard boxes. There was a sickening crack.  
  
Ken hung there. It was a long way to the ground. A moan came from the boxes, then there was silence. He heard footsteps above him.  
  
"Hidaka?" How had he known his name? Ken panicked. "Have Weiss set any explosives?" Ken hung there, silent. "Answer me," the man commanded. Then, in a more sympathetic tone, "I want to know if I'll have time to get my team out alive."  
  
Slowly, Ken nodded. Then it occurred to him that Oracle wouldn't have the faintest idea he had nodded, and blushed with no one to see him. "No, no explosives," he muttered.  
  
"Thank you." The tone was crisp and cut through Ken like a knife. He heard sharp footsteps above, then a muffled scrape as first Mastermind, then the lighter Berserker, were dragged away. Finally, he saw Oracle below him, searching amongst a pile of broken and scattered cardboard boxes before pulling out a tiny limp form. He checked the pulse and, apparently satisfied, carried the unconscious Prodigy out of the building.  
  
~Siberian, report. What is your status? Siberian, repeat, report.~ Ken flinched suddenly. Almost letting go of the pipe. He'd forgotten about the radio. ~Siberian, what is your current status?~ Omi's tone was clipped and firm.  
  
"O- uh, Bombay, I'm in the main warehouse. I require assistance."  
  
~Are you hurt?~ Concern coloured the younger man's voice.  
  
"Flesh wound, but that's not why I need assistance."  
  
"It sure ain't!" Yohji had sauntered into the warehouse, and was looking up at him. "How do you do this to yourself, Ke-"  
  
"Balinese!" Aya snapped, striding in.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. How do you do this to yourself, Siberian."  
  
"A little help, guys? My shoulder and its socket are keen to part company here."  
  
They stared up, Ken stared down between his feet. There was a splattering of blood from his left arm decorating the tiled floor. He felt dizzy. It seemed such a long way down. The distance seemed to lengthen and shorten, and he swallowed. He felt sick. He really couldn't hold on much longer. The realisation of everything he'd done was coming to him now, and it wasn't making him feel any better.  
  
"Let go." Aya seemed so far away and his voice echoed in Ken's ear. "I'll catch you."  
  
"Too far," Ken moaned.  
  
"You don't really have much choice here," Yohji observed. "Better sooner than later."  
  
"I'll catch you," Aya assured him again. Ken took a deep breath, trying to still the spinning world, and let go.  
  
He guessed he blacked out, because the next thing he remembered he was in Aya's arms, gently being lowered to the floor. Yohji was giving him a worried look. Ken forced himself to sit up. The dizziness was ebbing away. Aya wasn't letting go of him, supporting him gently.  
  
"I'm okay. Really, I'm okay. Just a bit of vertigo," Ken reassured them as they attempted to carry him back to the van. He struggled from their grasp, determined to walk on his own. He was surprised to find he could.  
  
* * *  
  
Ken was lying on his bed, flicking through television channels and chewing stale crisps. Aya knocked and walked straight in without waiting for a reply. In the crook of his arm were a variety of bandages and something Ken didn't at first recognise.  
  
"I'm sorry it's not a cake," Aya said softly. He deposited the bandages on the bed and held out the box.  
  
"Mini doughnuts!" Ken squealed, then blushed. "I love those!"  
  
Aya sat down on the bed next to him. He took Ken's left arm firmly and began to unwrap the bandages Ken had tried to unsuccessfully put on himself. He frowned, and fetched a bowlful of warm water from the bathroom and a cloth. Ken ate the doughnuts while Aya bathed and dressed the wound properly. Aya opened his mouth to comment on the inexpert first aid Ken had attempted when Ken stuffed a doughnut into his mouth. He choked briefly, then remembered to chew.  
  
He swallowed. "Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly.  
  
"No, actually. I don't think I want to be alone. Do you mind staying?" Ken gave Aya his puppy dog eyes.  
  
"Not at all." Aya settled himself more comfortably on the bed. Ken finally stopped flicking through the channels when he reached sports. It was the tail end of a soccer match, and Aya couldn't keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
  
There was a quiet knock. Ken called for the knocker to come in, and a tousled head appeared around the door. It was Omi. "Hi. I, um, I was writing the report, and I just came to see how you were."  
  
"You mean you need an explanation for my wound," Ken smiled. "Join us." Omi hopped up onto the bed. He could finish the report later. Ken patted the pillow nest to him and Omi lay next to Ken, letting his head rest on Ken's strong chest.  
  
"What did happen?" Aya asked suddenly.  
  
"Oh, Schwarz."  
  
"What?" Both heads turned to stare at him.  
  
"They were on the balcony. I fell on Berserker, which is how I got my arm cut." Ken really didn't want to talk about it.  
  
"What about the others?" Aya demanded.  
  
"Well, I sort of hit Mastermind, and knocked him out. Pure fluke. And then Prodigy came up and tried to, well succeeded in, pushing me over the balcony, using those powers of his. And I grabbed him as I fell over, and I grabbed that pipe, and I sort of let go of him and I think he broke his arm but the boxes broke his fall."  
  
"Well! Three in one go. Go, Ken-kun!" Omi exalted.  
  
"What about Oracle?" Aya asked.  
  
"He just kinda asked whether we were blowing the place up, picked up his team and left." Ken settled back into the cushions, offering the box of mini doughnuts to Omi.  
  
The match went into extra time, and by the time it finished Omi was asleep in Ken's arm. Ken had no objection to the small boy's slight weight. Aya was still sitting a little apart, cross-legged and bolt upright.  
  
A sport's documentary about deceased players came on. Ken's eyes widened.  
  
'This week we're looking at the rise and fall of a young star who could have been playing for the country by now. We rarely do this, but new evidence has just been released about his fall. He would have been twenty (A/N: Twenty one?) today, had he lived.'  
  
"Ken, we don't have to watch this," Aya told him suddenly, as 'Hidaka Ken' flowed across the screen in an incongruously flowery script.  
  
"I want to," Ken said firmly. Photos of his childhood were being shown and a hyperbolically tragic voiceover was discussing his potential when there was a knock at the door. "Come in, Yohji," Ken called.  
  
"How did you, oh," Yohji pushed the door closed behind him. "Did you know, oh, you did." Yohji looked at the screen.  
  
"Come, sit," Ken commanded. Yohji slid in between Aya and Ken, his lanky boy stretching across the bed.  
  
"You never said anything about it being your birthday," he accused, as the show mentioned it yet again. Ken said nothing. Yohji turned his head to look at him. Ken's eyes were unnaturally bright, reflecting the pictures from the screen. A single tear brimmed over the delicate lashes and slid down the gently curving cheek. Yohji wiped it away, and Ken blushed.  
  
"Kase," he said hoarsely. Yohji looked at the screen.  
  
"You were so kawaii!" he teased. Ken gave him a wan smile. It was a home video of an early match. They'd just won, and Ken and Kase had their arms around each other and were grinning at the camera.  
  
'We won! We so won!' Kase was exulting. 'We're through and they're not!'  
  
'I feel kinda sorry for them,' Ken was worrying. 'They did really well to get so far.'  
  
'But we did better!'  
  
Ken chewed his lip. Perhaps, perhaps Kase hadn't changed. Perhaps Kase had always been a bit like that. Ken could remember how ambitious he was, how competitive, how jealous. There was another clip now, a local newsreel, and he winced. He'd forgotten how condescending Kase could be as well.  
  
'We have to have him in goal, he can't run up the pitch without tripping over his own feet!'  
  
'So, how long have you been best friends?'  
  
'Feels like forever!' Ken stared at his younger self. He was so. so trusting. He and Kase had their arms around each other again, but it had a different quality to it then. Ken remembered how that had been the same day Kase had given his confession of love. Ken remembered how warm he'd felt, how. special. Yes, that was what he missed, that was what was making him lonely. He wasn't 'special' any more.  
  
There were more clips, more newsreels. The shocking match, the 'discovery of the truth'. Aya opened his mouth to say they should change the channel, but something in Ken's face stopped him. Perhaps it would do Ken good to see this.  
  
If Ken had known what Aya wanted to say, he would have agreed, but it didn't occur to him to change the channel. Every shot of Kase was killing him, every assurance of Ken's innocence issuing form those traitorous lips tore created another fracture in his broken heart.  
  
And then the 'real truth'. New evidence suggested Ken had been drugged. There was a possibility that Kase had done it, but motives were unclear. Jealousy was most likely, it seemed.  
  
Ken buried his face in Omi's hair. The youth slept peacefully on. Ken envied him. He'd never sleep tonight. Finally, the show lamented Ken's untimely death and showed his family 'still struggling without him'. This was entirely too much for Ken. He removed himself from the bed and locked himself in the bathroom.  
  
He cried for a long time. He heard movements in the other room. A groggy Omi was asking where Ken was. Yohji and Aya were having a muted argument. The door opened and closed. Yohji was talking to Omi. Yohji was carrying Omi downstairs to bed. The door swung several times. Eventually, all was silent.  
  
Ken opened the door softly. Aya was sitting on the bed. Ken stared.  
  
"How are you?" Aya asked.  
  
A range of replies ran through Ken's mind. He was miserable, he was depressed, he was upset, he was cheerless, he was gloomy, he was heartbroken, he was distressed, his arm hurt, his heart hurt, he felt betrayed, he felt lonely, he felt terrible, he didn't feel special any more. "I'm sad," he said softly.  
  
Aya stood up and walked over to where Ken stood in the bathroom doorway. He carefully slid both arms around Ken. Ken relaxed into the embrace.  
  
Aya tugged Ken gently over to the bed, and they sat down together, Ken still caught in Aya's arms. Aya stroked his hair.  
  
"Aya?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will you stay?" Ken looked up at his friend.  
  
"Do you want me to?" Ken nodded. Aya squeezed him a little tighter. "Of course I will. I don't want you to be lonely." Ken felt a small smile tug on his lips. Aya was a good person to be with when you were sad. Aya knew how you felt, and knew how to make you feel better without trying to cheer you up. "You're too special to lose just because you're sad," Aya murmured into Ken's hair. Ken closed his eyes. Special.  
  
* A/N: I wanted to feel sorry for Ken. Part of my maternal nature, I guess, I like to feel sorry for people. Most of this came about because I was thinking about he word 'sad'. There are a lot of words that mean roughly the same thing, but none have the resonance of 'sad'. 'Sad' is a simply the saddest word. :' ( Poor, poor Kenken.* 


End file.
